


mint

by lisettedelapin



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, M/M, as part of a kiss meme, specifically an "i almost lost you" kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisettedelapin/pseuds/lisettedelapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beginner’s luck isn’t real; they put a bullet in Sousuke and Haru saw it and now all he has is Sousuke’s disembodied voice where he can see red in places it shouldn’t be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mint

**Author's Note:**

> for the beautiful sarah, who requested 11. an “I almost lost you” kiss with souharu! naturally, this means a gang au... 
> 
> (this was meant to be 100-300 words and it got a little out of hand oops)

It’s always after when it hits him.

Haru is standing in the shed with the smell of burnt gravel stinging his nose. There’s road under his feet, highway smoke curling where he shouldn’t see it and the choked gasp that tries to lodge itself where his heart is already stuck in his throat sounds airy to himself.

He teeters, hand clambering for the nearest solid surface. It’s the edge of a table and he clings to it; lets it cut right into the delicate flesh of his palms to bring him back to where he is.

“Haruka.”

There is only one person who calls him Haruka.

When he lifts his chin, his eyes are wide, searching – ultimately unseeing. He needs to hear it once more so he knows where to turn. He’s panicking, he realises, when his heartbeat rises from an engine’s purr to the pounding that means _run._

His breath stutters. One month ago he didn’t know that the sound of a fired gun mellows to a drumbeat when it’s more than one gun and it’s more than one shot. No discernible end after seventeen and he forgets to count, starts to believe it’s just the natural frequency they function on. Some of the boys still pray; Haru is learning that God is the barrel of a gun. Circle of life, you could say.

“Haruka. _Haruka._ ”

He chases the sound but he doesn’t know where to look and so it is here, in the shed, away from the highway, that Haru fears everything. Beginner’s luck isn’t real; they put a bullet in Sousuke and Haru saw it and now all he has is Sousuke’s disembodied voice where he can see red in places it shouldn’t be. 

 _The roads are veins,_ Makoto had said. _Respect them._

Sousuke’s eyes had been closed. Now, Haru is too scared to open his.

Suddenly there is pressure on his elbows, something fluttering over his shoulders before it grips, and _yes,_ Haru knows that grip; knows this particular vice on his heart.

“Are you—“  
  
_Okay?_

_Is Sousuke okay?_

Haru gasps, reaches out blindly. His fingers are trembling, skittish over hard muscle – all intact, just as he knows it. He pushes, and he wants to bow when he is met with resistance; kneel when the resistance gives and he hears the _thud_ of a back to the wall, the faint grunt he has learned the taste of.

He skates one hand up, up, until his fingers find warmth, a hint of stubble. He lets the other drift till he finds cotton, and he can clutch at it; feel the fabric bunch before he jerks it up and there’s warmth again but it’s not enough, it’s not what he’s looking for.

It is only when there’s a heartbeat under his palm, just as fast as his own, that he feels the ragged breath heave out of him.

“I’m here.”  
  
Haru nods, opens his eyes. He can feel Sousuke’s jaw lock before he sees him.

“You almost weren’t.”

Sousuke looks pained, his brows drawn when Haru tilts his chin up and he is so grateful that Sousuke is one of the few who never shies from looking him in the eyes.

“Not the point.”  
  
But it _could’ve_ been, Haru thinks. And then he decides that he really doesn’t want to think.

He feels Sousuke melt when he skims his mouth up his throat. He’s pliant, breath slipping from him on a sigh when Haru leans up to seek his lips.

Haru’s lungs relax when he doesn’t taste ash or dirt or blood; or worse, the scent of death. Sousuke is cheap bodywash, faint cling of cologne, solid, thankfully solid. He tastes mint when Sousuke’s lips part and it’s agonising in the same way it is to catch a familiar scent and not remember the name. Haru commits to the contact; chases the taste as he moves the hand on Sousuke’s jaw to tangle in his hair and pull him closer. He never knows quite what to draw from words – this, he can understand just fine.

Sousuke breathes.

And it hits Haru.

There’s salt finding mint. There’s a natural thrum under his palm and the only thing it means is life, there’s a wound on Sousuke’s shoulder. There will be a scar where there is not a bullet and, and—

_Sousuke breathes._

So does Haru.


End file.
